


Caretaker

by anastiel



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Comfort No Hurt, Domestic Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Prescrption Drug Usage, This is so sweet your teeth will rot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastiel/pseuds/anastiel
Summary: “You staying over tonight?” Jensen asks, in between takes, his hands jammed into the pockets of Dean’s jeans out of the cold, shoulder knocking against Misha’s. It’s Misha’s first day back on set post-Winter hiatus and post-hip surgery.“Do you want me to?” Misha asks, as if the answer isn’t yes, as if they haven’t been texting each other every day since hiatus started, and haven’t been waiting for this day every moment over the past month. He looks over at Jensen to gauge his reaction, fixates on the gentle slope of his nose, and the light pink of his cheeks in the winter air.Jensen scoffs. “You know I do.”
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins
Comments: 9
Kudos: 156





	Caretaker

“You staying over tonight?” Jensen asks, in between takes, his hands jammed into the pockets of Dean’s jeans out of the cold, shoulder knocking against Misha’s. It’s Misha’s first day back on set post-Winter hiatus and post-hip surgery. 

“Do you want me to?” Misha asks, as if the answer isn’t yes, as if they haven’t been texting each other every day since hiatus started, and haven’t been waiting for this day every moment over the past month. He looks over at Jensen to gauge his reaction, fixates on the gentle slope of his nose, and the light pink of his cheeks in the winter air. 

Jensen scoffs. “You know I do.”

Misha’s mouth twitches in amusement at the offense in Jensen’s voice. He rotates his body, and steps in as close as he dares, dropping his voice quiet just for Jensen. “I think you missed me.”

“Yeah?” Jensen says, eyes raising to meet Misha’s, flashing with a mix of mischief and unadulterated love. “What gave you that idea?”

Misha shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips, turning back to face the crew, who are resetting the shot. “I don’t know, it’s just a hunch.”

Jensen chuckles, and he ducks his head as a blush rises on his neck to the tips of his ears. He licks his lips, composing himself and then gives Misha a more serious look. “How’s your hip?”

“It’s hurting a bit, but nothing I can’t handle.”

There’s a constant dull radiating pain that amplifies into a twinge if he moves wrong, but that will fade the longer he continues physical therapy. It’s a slow process, but he’s already in less pain than he was before the surgery. 

“Do you need a break?” Jensen asks, resting a hand on Misha’s shoulder. He squeezes gently and Misha suddenly wishes they were anywhere else than in front of two dozen other people. 

“I’ll be okay, we’re almost done,” Misha says, giving Jensen a convincing smile. “Then you can take me home and baby me all you want.”

He may be exhausted and achy by the time they get back to Jensen’s but with a little R & R provided by Jensen, Misha will be more than fine for the next few days of shooting.

Jensen’s smile widens and he squeezes Misha’s shoulder once more before dropping his hand. “I can’t wait.”

* * *

After coming back to Jensen’s place, Misha immediately situates himself on Jensen’s couch. In the kitchen behind him, he hears the distant sounds of Jensen moving about, glass clinking, a bottle being opened, liquid poured, and Jensen humming some indistinct tune. 

He hears the high-pitched whistle of the tea kettle too and it brings a smile to his face. That’s  _ his  _ tea kettle on Jensen’s counter. After Misha decided to split his time during filming between Vancouver and Bellingham, Jensen insisted he bring some stuff and leave it for the nights and mornings he would be here. Surprisingly, Jensen didn’t have a tea kettle before Misha settled in, which was an atrocity Misha  _ needed  _ to rectify before spending a morning there. 

Jensen’s become fond of the addition to his housewares, even using it himself from time to time. He’s never usually up before Misha is, prefers to sleep in as late as possible before rolling his pretty self out of bed. On occasion, when he’s feeling romantic, which is more often than Misha anticipated, he’ll bring Misha his cup of tea in bed while the sun is still rising and peeking through the blinds. 

Tonight, he’s all in on the “let’s-baby-Misha-because-he-just-had-surgery” train. 

“Did you take your pain meds yet?” Jensen calls from the kitchen. 

There’s a clatter on the countertop followed by the ping of metal hitting glass.

“No, they’re in my jacket pocket,” Misha answers, craning his neck to look behind at Jensen. 

He is standing at the counter, delicately stirring milk into a mug.

“Tea?” Misha asks.

“Mhmm and then I’ll get your pills,” Jensen says. He glances up at Misha briefly with the hint of a smile and Misha feels it all the way from across the room, echoing as a burst of warmth in his chest. 

“I can get them,” Misha protests.

“Nope, you’ve been standing up for longer today then you’re supposed to. Rest, Mish,” Jensen says. 

Misha sighs, heavy, but a smile works its way onto his face as Jensen heads his way. 

Jensen hands him the warm mug, accompanied by a sweet kiss to his forehead. “Just... let me please?”

Misha looks up and into his eyes, finds pleading there and a glimpse of guilt Jensen has no need for. He knows Jensen feels bad he couldn’t be at the hospital with him, and if allowing Jensen to take care of him assuages that guilt, Misha’s more than happy to oblige him. He  _ is  _ in more pain tonight than he has been in a few days, no doubt due to the extensive hours he spent standing on set today. 

Jensen comes back, a prescription pill bottle in his fist, which he drops into Misha’s awaiting hand. By the time he’s done swallowing down the pills, Jensen is sitting across from him on the couch, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, Misha’s feet resting in his lap. There’s a soft smile playing on his lips, the one he reserves just for Misha and he looks like he’s about to say something, but is holding back. 

“What?” Misha asks. 

Jensen shakes his head, smile turning bashful and looks down into his drink. “I just missed you. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too. I never truly feel back from hiatus until I spend the night. Doesn’t feel like I’m back until I’m with you,” Misha admits. 

He doesn’t continue and say that this is the last time they’ll come back from hiatus, that this is the last first night together they’ll have. He knows Jensen is thinking it too. Jensen smiles at him, a touch of sadness in his eyes, and reaches across Misha’s legs to squeeze the hand Misha has resting in his lap. 

Jensen flicks on some music from his phone, connecting it to the speakers set up around the room. He turns it on low, just enough for background noise while they relax.

It takes a bit for the pills to start to work. By the time Misha is done with his tea, mug discarded onto the coffee table next to the couch, Jensen’s next to it, his head starts to feel a little fuzzy. Vicadin isn’t strong enough to make him pass out right away, he gets loopy for an hour or so first. It reminds him of all the shit he and Vicki tried years ago, that blissful-weightless feeling, a brief respite from pain, and nothing but floating and the awareness of Jensen being so close to him. He’s still across the couch, but his thigh is warm under Misha’s foot, and he looks so peaceful, the shadow of his profile in the low light, the gentle curve of his mouth.

Misha stares and stares and feels a dopey smile work it’s way onto his lips. He sighs, happily and stares some more.

“You good?” Jensen asks, laughing a little, looking at Misha curiously. 

“Hmm?” Misha asks, blinking at Jensen like he just awoke from a trance.

“You just keep staring at me.” Jensen’s mouth twitches in amusement and Misha wishes his hip wasn’t still healing, because he really wants to climb into Jensen’s lap and kiss him right now.

“Well,” Misha starts, purposefully drawing out the l, “Can you blame me? You’re pretty.”

Jensen’s answering laugh sounds like a dozen bells ringing and Misha grins at him. 

“Alright, you sap, bedtime.”

Misha’s lips tip down into a pout. “I’m not sleepy.”

Jensen snorts and shakes his head at him. He carefully moves Misha’s feet off of his thighs so he can stand. “Okay, how about a bath first? It might help?”

“Will you take one with me?” Misha asks. 

A bath sounds like a good idea, but only if Jensen is there. As the pain pills seep further into his system, the need to be held and touched becomes nearly overpowering. He wants to be wrapped up, held close against Jensen’s chest, strong arms tight around him. Jensen is standing now, in front of Misha, eyes soft and crinkled at the edges from the gentle smile on his lips. Misha stares up at him and wonders how he looks to Jensen right now; if he’s as starry-eyed as he feels. 

“Mhmm,” Jensen agrees.

“Can you hold me?”

Jensen’s smile widens and he reaches out his hands for Misha to help him to his feet. “Yeah, Mish, of course.

* * *

Somehow, they both manage to make it into the bath without Misha re-fucking up his hip. Jensen rests his back up against the edge of the tub, Misha in his lap, back to Jensen’s chest. He’s got one arm loosely wrapped around Misha’s waist and brushes the fingertips of his other hand back and forth down Misha’s thigh. Jensen is right, this was a good idea. As he relaxes his head back onto Jensen’s shoulder, Misha thinks that he might like to stay here forever. 

He says as much and Jensen chuckles right into his ear, the vibrations of the sound reverberating through his body and filling him with a sense of peace.

“You high on pain meds is something else.”

“Oh?” Misha asks. 

“It’s cute. You’re even more dopey than usual.”

Misha gasps in mock offense. “How. Rude.” 

Jensen kisses the side of Misha’s neck, nuzzling against his cheek. “Like I said, cute.”

“You’re cute,” Misha shoots back. “And pretty. With freckles.”

He shifts, moving to cover the hand Jensen has spread over his stomach, with his own and squeezes. 

“You think so?” Jensen asks, amusement in his tone. He sounds a little fuzzy to Misha’s drug-addled brain, but smooth, like honey, and Misha’s eyes flutter shut. He’ll just lie here, in Jensen’s arms, listening to him talk. Perfect. 

“Mhmm, the prettiest.”

He must slur a little when he speaks because Jensen starts giggling and presses a kiss to Misha’s cheek. “Do you wanna kiss my freckles?”

Misha pops open his eyes, craning his neck around to look at Jensen. A slow smile spreads onto his lips. He gazes over Jensen’s faze, taking him in, and settles on his mouth, staring at the cluster of freckles on the curve of Jensen’s bottom lip. “Yeah.”

The water sloshes as Jensen moves, reaching up to cup Misha’s cheek with his palm, bringing him closer. Their noses bump together and then Jensen kisses him, slow and sweet. Misha takes it up a notch, dragging his tongue over the aforementioned smatter of freckles on Jensen’s bottom lip. He drags his teeth over the plump edge, coaxing a gasp from Jensen’s throat. 

It encourages him, and underneath the water, Jensen pulls him closer. Misha turns around the best he can, sliding his hands up into Jensen’s hair, deepening the kiss. They trade languid kisses, which get progressively dirtier until Misha’s licking into Jensen’s mouth and getting him to gasp into the kiss. He feels his body reacting, heart pounding in his ears, and cock thickening. Fuck. 

Misha groans, abruptly pulling back out of the kiss to rest his forehead against Jensen’s panting in the minimal space between their mouths. “I can’t yet, we need to stop. I still have a few more weeks until I’m sex-approved.”

“That’s okay, kissing you is just fine,” Jensen answers, proving his point by kissing the tip of Misha's nose. 

Misha blinks at him, smiling and relaxed from kissing. His eyes are starting to feel heavy -- a combination effect of the drugs and how comfortable he is here with Jensen. 

Jensen must notice because he chuckles and reaches up to drag a gentle hand through Misha’s hair. “You ready for bed?” 

“Mmmm, yeah. One more kiss?” 

“Yeah, one more.”

One ends up being ten, but who's counting?

* * *

Once they’re out of the bath and dried off, they don’t bother with clothes, not when they’re both warm and clean and needy for continued skin-on-skin contact. Misha, extra loopy now, hangs off Jensen’s shoulder with clingy hands. He’s having trouble standing without swaying, which only makes him giggle and grip Jensen’s shoulder tighter. 

“You good?” Jensen asks. He loops his arm around Misha’s waist, kissing the side of his neck, right beneath his ear, and holds him tight.

“Wobbly.”

“I see that. You gonna be able to make it to bed?” 

Effortlessly, Misha puts on his best dopey pout. “Help me?”

Usually, this is Jensen’s move, and it works like a charm on him.  _ Success _ , Misha thinks as Jensen sighs and rolls his eyes, mouth twitching up into a fond smile. 

“Remind me to never get you high.” Jensen adjusts their positioning, situating himself at Misha’s side.

“I’m very fun,” Misha counters, as he shuffles along next to Jensen. 

“Oh, I have no doubt about that.” They reach the bed and Jensen moves with Misha, sitting next to him on the edge. “But, you need sleep, old man.”

Misha smacks his shoulder and frowns. “I can’t believe you’re calling your injured boyfriend names.”

Jensen chuckles, then sombers, looking at Misha in faux seriousness. “I’m sorry.”

Misha squints at him. 

Curving towards him, Jensen places a palm on Misha’s chest and gently pushes him backward until he’s lying back on the comforter. He slides his palm up, fingers ghosting over Misha’s collarbone, up the line of his neck, curling his fingers behind Misha’s head and leans in. It’s a sweet kiss, slow and gentle, accompanied by Jensen’s fingers stroking through the hair at the nape of Misha’s neck. 

“Was that mean?” Jensen asks, pulling back a few inches, smiling down at him. 

“Mmmm not sure, I think you should try again.”

Misha sighs into it, going lax under Jensen’s capable mouth and hands. It’s unusual for him to give up control like this, the opposite of their usual dynamic. But he needs this, needs Jensen to take care of him in any way he can.

Jensen’s mouth slides down, pressing butterfly soft kisses down Misha’s chest, down his torso, until he reaches the new scar, stark red, newly healed on Misha’s hip. He pauses, mouth inches away, breath tickling the sensitive skin. Misha sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation causing Jensen to look up at him. He pauses, waiting until Misha offers him a warm smile, then dips down and leaves a chaste kiss on the raised skin of Misha’s scar.

A spark of arousal goes through Misha’s body, new skin hypersensitive and he can’t stop the whine that leaves his lips. 

“Feel good?” Jensen asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

Misha nods, and groans when Jensen does it again, lets the kiss linger, soothes the ache with his tongue.

“Jen.”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t --” it’s broken off in a choked whine, as Jensen moves his mouth up and away from the scar to suck a mark onto Misha’s skin, just above the edge of his hip. 

“I know.” With a gentle palm, Jensen holds him down, stopping Misha from rolling his hips like he wants too. It’ll hurt too much. He breathes deep and tries to calm his senses down. The bed dips next to him and one of Jensen’s arms slings around his waist, carefully maneuvering him in the bed until his back is pressed up against Jensen’s chest. 

Jensen fits his arm snug around Misha’s waist, nuzzles into the crook of his shoulder and asks, “Better?”

He sighs. “Much. Must you torture me so?”

Jensen chuckles and kisses the back of Misha’s neck. “I didn’t realize it would affect you that bad.”

“You  _ always _ affect me like that.”

He feels Jensen shrug. “What can I say, I’m irresistible.” Jensen tacks on a corny and badly done British accent to the last word that has Misha snickering. 

“Sleep?” Jensen asks, once Misha’s stopped laughing, and has snuggled inexplicably closer to him. 

“Sleep,” Misha answers, blearily. 

He’s already drifting, trapped in the warmth of Jensen’s arms. He fits his hands atop Jensen’s where they rest on his waist and relaxes back, letting the familiar sound of Jensen’s breathing lull him to sleep.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/anastiels)!


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